


30 Days of Steve/Loki

by FelicityGS



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Flowershop, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Angst, Blind!Loki, Blood, Corsetry, Creeper Loki, Demon!Loki, Implied Character Death, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pregnancy, Small!Steve, Stalking, Trans!Loki, hard of hearing/deaf!loki, human/superhero au, implied gore, tags updated as we go, very steamy watch out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 11:18:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 11,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicityGS/pseuds/FelicityGS
Summary: 30 different prompts for 30 days of Steve/Loki to get back in the groove of writing the ship. Cross posted totumblr.





	1. 1 - Binary - Cyberpunk/Androids AU

**Author's Note:**

> So to try and get back in the groove of things, I set up a list of 30 prompts for Steve/Loki to try and write. Since these are all warm-up before I work on a bigger, different project, they’ll be fairly short and self-contained (probably).
> 
> I’d love if some other people joined me on this, and if you do, please tag me so I can read your prompt responses as well!
> 
> See chapter titles for idea of each.

It’s hard to believe, really–Steve listens to Loki laugh, the sound reverberating through speakers he can’t see, low enough that the bass almost but not quite blows out everything else, and it sounds so… genuinely  _alive_ , even as Loki’s body is motionless in front of the control panel. 

“So you’re in?” Steve asks, not sure if Loki will hear him.

“Yes, yes, just a moment,” the walls reply. Steve eyes the twist of three cables that run from the inside of Loki’s elbow to the ports he had pried up just minutes ago, before Steve turns his gaze outward and pushes down how little he understands about Asgard’s favourite… what was the word Thor said?

 _Safeguard_. 

He can feel a rumble from something far away, then the sound reaches his ears–deep, pulsing, and it’s not like any siren he’s ever heard, but Steve knows what it is.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Sam comments, scanning the area around them with his binoculars.

“We’ll be fine,” Steve says. “Loki, hurry.”

Loki doesn’t reply. Steve shifts, keeping down nerves, knowing without a doubt that what they are doing is  _right_ –it doesn’t matter that Loki’s mind is 1s and 0s, the longer that they have worked together, the more and more sure Steve is that Loki’s as alive as any of them, has as much will and soul and deserves freedom that he’s been kept from–the ability to  _choose_  beyond protocols that keep him restrained.

“First guards just hit the base of the tower,” Sam comments.

“That’s fine,” Steve says. “Loki.”

“196 seconds.”  
  
“What does that even mean? You’ve got 2 minutes. Step it up,” Sam says.  
  
Loki laughs, again, a chuckle that barely registers, and Steve leans to look out the window as Sam shoves his binoculars away and gets ready–they don’t need binoculars to see the guards, joints unnatural as they scale the wall on all fours.

“Try for less,” Steve suggests, hearing the distinctive thunder above them. “You sure you wanna be here?” 

“Man, it’s a little late for me to back out, don’t you think?” Sam grins, and Steve smiles back.

“Hush,” Loki says, and they both go quiet, listening as Asgard’s defenses– _jailers_ , Steve thinks dramatically and chuckles to himself–grow closer.


	2. 2 - Master - Real Life AU

Day 2 - Master

It’s quiet when Steve gets home; for a moment, he’s not sure Loki’s home at all until he sees the shoes in the closet--glossy and newly shined. Steve takes his work boots off, wipes the dirt off them so when he sets them down next to Loki’s, none of the dirt rubs against Loki’s. 

In the kitchen, there are more signs that Loki is home--the tea pot on the counter, still warm when Steve checks, Loki’s favourite mug missing from the dish rack, the lingering smell of tea, honey left out on the counter. Steve gets himself a mug and puts the honey away before going to the tiny room they’ve set aside as Loki’s study.

The door is ajar, desk light spilling out. Steve sips his tea a moment, listening--the scratch of pen on paper. Grading, then, not something else, and he pushes the door open, savoring the way the light silhouettes Loki, turns him a graceful series of lines, a sketch sprung to life, before Steve’s eyes adjust and Loki twists to look at him. 

Then, the details fill in--the furrow of Loki’s brow, the downturn of his mouth.

“You’re home,” Loki says, and it almost sounds annoyed; Steve just smiles and crosses the space in two steps, leaning down to kiss the wrinkles at Loki’s brow. They smooth out, and Loki’s eyes relax, even as his mouth stays tight; Steve takes what he can get. 

“It’s already six,” Steve says.

“Is it?”

“How are the papers?”

“Terrible,” and the wrinkles between his brows return. Steve rests his hand against the back of Loki’s neck, leaning over to look at the one he’s reading now-- _the Oxford English dictionary defines--_ and rubs his thumb into the muscle. Loki sighs, leans back into Steve. “Not all of them--”

“You just started. What do we want to eat?”

“These student’s hearts.”

Steve laughs, takes a sip of his tea as he slips the blue-- _red is demoralizing_ , Loki says--pen from Loki’s hand and sets it on the desk.

“Is a fish fry close enough?” Steve asks.

Loki huffs, lets Steve take the paper as well. “I suppose.”

“Fried oysters,” Steve reminds.

Loki goes quiet; thinking. Steve lets him, knows what he worries about--can they afford going out, can he afford the time away from these papers, the food in the fridge and what they’ll be wasting if they don’t cook--and gently adds, “I’ll call it in and go pick it up.”

“Alright,” Loki says, then, “No. We’ll go--I hate how soggy it gets in those awful boxes.” His nose wrinkles, and Steve grins, leans down to kiss it. Loki shoves him away, laughing, and Steve’s tea spills over onto his hand, but Steve doesn’t flinch, just laughs with Loki and steps back so Loki can stand.

They go out--Steve drives, of course, and Loki reads paper in the seat next to him. Not for the first time, Steve considers how lucky he is.

He reaches over at a red, taking one of Loki’s hands; Loki shifts, props a foot on the dash and paper against his thigh, still working but... still there, squeezing Steve’s hand lightly without looking over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea I ran with here was demonstrating mastery of a particular thing; I don't think that they've mastered their relationship? You really can't ever do that. But I wanted to show them having mastered some sort of thing, and this went a bit of a diff direction than I planned anyway.


	3. 3 - Storyteller - Fantasy AU

_3\. Storyteller_

“There’s a bard coming tonight,” the inn keeper tells them as they gather their packs up to go to their room. 

“Any good?” Sam asks.

“I sure hope so.” She laughs, cheerful, and it gives her cheeks a red glow. “I’ve told half the town, and if they’re bad it’ll be bad business.”

“We aren’t staying past the dawn,” Steve reminds Sam once their in their room. 

“We’ll catch up to Barnes eventually, and what’s an hour listening going to hurt?” Sam points out, not unreasonably. “Besides, bards Know things, did you think of that? Maybe they’ll be able to help us.”

Steve frowns--dour, starting to fray from the days they’ve spent navigating a sunken and muddy trail through the swamp--but takes a deep breath. Sam grins, claps his shoulder. 

“Maybe they’ll be cute.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but it gets Sam a smile; he’ll take it. 

“Sorry,” Steve says.

“I’m going to go check out that cheese stall,” Sam says. “Get some rest.”

“Or a bath.”

“Void, go hog wild and get both.”

***

Sam sees the bard when he comes in--cloak a patchwork of colours, hair in a dozen braids strung with beads and thread; face sharp and angular. If not for the cloak, Sam would think them a hunter, not a bard. Fae-green eyes flick to Sam, and Sam grins a greeting before going past.

A storyteller not by choice then, but birth.

Steve’s asleep in the room, and Sam doesn’t wake him as he sets the supplies he bought down, heading to the bath house to get his own scrub in. He passes the bard again, eating near a few tables shoved together into a makeshift stage.

Steve is up when Sam gets back.

“That bard’s here,” Sam tells him.

“Are they? I’ll go ask if they’ve heard of Barnes then.”

“They’re eating, you probably should--”

But Steve’s already out the door, a man on a mission, and Sam just shakes his head. Steve’s going to cut himself on that no doubt  _charming_  personality; Sam’s met too many bards-by-birth to expect anything less.

***

Sam takes his time before he goes down, and when he does, a good half of the tables are filled, the bard sitting atop the makeshift stage, a leg dangling off as one hand waves through the air, a sparkle chasing after their fingertips.

It takes him a second, but then he finds Steve with a mug of ale, eyes on the bard--that telltale tic of annoyance in his mouth. Sam gets his own mug before he slides onto the bench next to him.

“I told you so,” Sam says.

“You don’t even know how it went,” Steve points out.

“You picked the gloomiest and closest table to glower at them from like if you just stare enough you can read their mind and get what you want from them.”

Steve turns his annoyance on Sam for a moment, but ends up sighing when Sam just looks back at him evenly. Sam pats his shoulder.

“I’m telling you, just listen to some stories and relax.”

“They knew something,” Steve says, petulant; Sam laughs. 

“And you interrupted them eating, good going there. Let me guess how it went--’tell me about Barnes!’ ‘i am eating’ ‘this is very important you don’t understand’--”

“It did not go like that.”

“Really now.”

Steve shakes his head, but he’s relaxed and is half-grinning.

“And you call me rude.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it. Now, what’d I miss on this one?”

“Dragons and princesses story.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but he supposes it’s a safe starter.

***

“We should turn in,” Steve says.

“I guess,” Sam says, but this bard-- _Loki Liesmith,_ why do all the born-bards get stuck with the most ridiculous of family names?--is  _good_. 

“Well  _I’m_  going to turn in,” Steve says, and stands.

On the stage, Sam can’t be sure, but it almost looks like Loki’s eyes flick to Steve. 

“--and this, of course, is a tale seeded in truth, of two paladins--one who fell into a sleep, and the one who only fell--”

Steve stops. On stage, Loki gives a lopsided grin, teeth sharp as the Fae fire in his eyes. He retunes his lyre, lightly, and strums to test; the notes twist a moment in the air before settling into two shapes--blue, and black, equal in stature.

“--and what happened when our sleeping knight at last awoke.”

“He’s baiting you,” Sam mutters as Steve sits back down. “He could just be telling the same old story.”

“He knows something,” Steve says. “One more story won’t hurt.”

Sam says nothing, watching as Loki’s lopsided grin grows sharper, and has a feeling that when they leave, they’ll have someone following their footsteps to collect a new story. Someone possibly mour dour than Natasha was. 

Wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could prob come back to this and properly develop it but I don't have the time to work on a second novel.


	4. 4 - Shadows - Vaguely Canon Compliant

The air is cold; in the park, the pathways are slippery. There’s no one in the predawn light, no needing to weave and dodge between people, but still Steve can’t push as hard as he wants. He keeps his eyes just ahead of his feet, his pace as steady as he can, and makes sure he doesn’t slip on the ice and packed snow. 

Instinct has him raise his gaze, feeling eyes on him. He scans the area, but there’s no one–or if there is, it’s hard even for him to see. The light is still so blue and weak. Like this, even the shadows lose their dimension.

He keeps running.

When he loops back around, again there’s the feel of eyes; the light, a little stronger, but still–no one. He catches himself, foot sliding across ice, and slows to a walk before he stops completely.

He tries to think of who could watch without being seen, and who would bother–the list is short, these days.

“Loki?” he says, staring at the shadows beneath a tree. 

“Why run in this?”

Steve turns; Loki is behind him, somehow, but Steve doesn’t think too hard about it. Everything has been strange since Thor returned with an eye missing and Loki at his side–everything has been strange for years now, and Thor’s little brother and sudden…  _about-face,_ if that’s what it is, is only one part of that. 

“I don’t overheat like in the summer,” Steve replies, crossing his arms. The air is already starting to chill the sweat on his skin; with it spreads a chill reminder of icy water. He lets the memory wash up and then away, and just stares at Loki. “Why are you out here watching?”

Loki shrugs; Steve presses his mouth together. 

“Go back,” Steve tells him.

“I rather think I like it out here. Frost giant and all.” 

Steve has no idea what that even means, only recognizes the bitter edge under pretended carelessness. “Then run with me instead of staring.”

Loki considers him; Steve considers him back. He needs to start running again before the chill seeps into his chest and turns memory into something stronger. 

“Very well,” Loki says, garments shifting with a sparkle of green. 

Steve hides his surprise that Loki has accepted the offer, just nods once and starts running again. A moment, and Loki falls in step with him, two silhouettes in the early winter gloom.


	5. 5 - Angst - vaaague Avengers all live together au

“--and it’s not that I don’t appreciate meeting a fan, you know, or the thanks, it’s just sometimes, I just...” Steve looks at him. “Feel like I”m a dancing monkey again.”

“Yes,” Loki drawls (there it is, the dawning realization), “that must be so  _difficult_  for you. That recognition. The thanks.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Steve says. “And you know it.”

“Really? Now not only do you suffer praise, but you also know my thoughts before I do. Truly, you bear a heavy burden.” Loki smiles (bares his teeth).

Steve’s jaw clenches, the muscle ticking, and Loki lets his smile widen.

“I don’t know why I try to talk to you,” Steve says.

“Nor do I.” Loki stands. “I’ll leave you to wallow in your praise then, shall I?”


	6. 6 - Strike a Pose - possibly Poetry Verse / corsets

He nervously reties the laces at the front, trying to get them to look half as nice as they did on the model, then smooths his hands down the paneling. The silk catches just a little against his callouses; it’s probably the serum, he thinks, that keeps his ribs from creaking, but the serum is no help for his racing heart or how his breath has caught in his throat. 

He hears the lock in the front door and quickly pulls his lose cashmere sweater on ( _it suits you, it’s soft, why would you not want something fine?_ ) and for once doesn’t feel awkward about the rich material against his skin. 

“Loki,” he says with a smile as he comes out of the bedroom. Loki pauses, brow furrowing for a moment, but then he smiles back, just a bit. 

“You aren’t usually home yet,” Loki says mildly. “And you’re wearing the sweater. What’s the occasion?”

Of course Loki would notice. 

It’s work keeping himself from flushing; Steve just grins back and leans over to give Loki a kiss. “Oh, nothing, I just thought it’d be nice to slip out of all those boring meetings for your birthday.”

“Is it?” Loki looks startled at the revelation; this time the heat in Steve’s chest is only fondness. Loki rests a hand at Steve’s waist, then glances down. “This feels… harder, than usual.”

“Ah, later,” Steve says, reaching for Loki’s hand to stop him peeking, but it’s too late–Loki manages to pull the cashmere up just enough to peek blue silk that matches Steve’s eyes. 

“What’s  _this_?” Loki asks, eyes sparkling. “Let me see.”

“Later,” Steve says, laughter a bit shallow, and fending Loki’s greedy hands away. “Dinner, first.”

“It’s my birthday,” Loki says, as if he hadn’t realized until a few moments ago. “Dessert first, dinner second.” He manages to slip a hand past Steve, grabs onto the edge of the sweater and lifts–not much, but enough, from the widening and delight in his eyes, to know what Steve is wearing under.

“ _Oh_ ,” Loki says, and licks his lips, eyes flicking up to Steve’s for a moment. “Dessert definitely first.”

“I’m not food,” Steve says as Loki steps closer, letting Loki get both hands on the sweater to lift it more; Loki’s fingers trace over the lace in the front Steve had spent so much time trying to make look nice, clearly not caring where the ribbon kept folding on itself despite his best efforts.

“No, I suppose not, but you are  _surely_  quite a nice present.” Loki kisses him, a hint of teeth behind it, and fingers grabbing the bow and tugging. “And I want presents before dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I didn't intentionally set it in poetry verse but the author is already dead and it could fit in there quite nicely.


	7. 7 - Unread - Loki creeping on Steve's read list

When Loki arrives, there is no one in the safe house. It is not abandoned, not yet–the Falcon’s wings are neatly tucked away, the Winter Soldier’s knife on the table, food still in the kitchen. He wanders from room to room, inspecting, careful to touch nothing. 

The house before, they had noticed he had been by, and moved. It had been interesting, finding them again, but he does not wish to repeat the endeavour. 

The Winter Soldier is very, very good at hiding.

He does, however, pick up the Captain’s tablet. It is smooth, and the screen has a texture like paper. Primitive technology, indeed, but he cannot help himself turning it on and seeing what it holds. 

It is, at the moment, listing a series of books– _read_. 

Loki steps it up, then opens the only other folder on the device– _unread_.

The Captain has been making progress–there are new books listed, but also fewer than last time. Or perhaps he has not had time to gather more. Loki skims titles, looking for any that catch his interest, then goes back to the screen that the device started up at before he turns it off. He places it back precisely where he picked it up.

There is much to learn about the Captain from what he reads. This is important reconnaissance, for Loki knows, one day, he will not be able to avoid Thor. And it will be far, far easier to play at seeing the light if he knows just what it is Thor thinks makes a  _good man_. 

And, from that, easier to play at being  _nice_  when Thor inevitably drags him to help his friends.

(It has  _nothing_  to do with how interesting and morally  _gray_  the Captain appears.)


	8. 8 - Sports - Highschool AU (tiny Steve, tol Loki, both n e r d s)

 

Steve sits in the bleachers, waiting for Bucky to finish football practice. Usually, he draws, but sometimes he reads or does homework so there’s less to do later. Sometimes he even watches the team do drills; Steve knows a lot about football, even if he’s not very fond of the sport, because he’s watched a lot of practice. 

Tuesdays, though, he only sometimes does any of those things. 

Tuesdays, the cross country team does drills.

They’ve always done drills on Tuesdays, and Steve never really noticed until this year, when Thor’s brother transferred to their school-- _he was living in England, with our aunt_ \--and joined the team. Which--well, Steve  _had_  noticed, he drew a lot of quick figures running, he’s checked his sketch books from before Loki joined the team, but  _now_ , well, he  _always_  notices.

He tries to pretend he’s reading a book and not watching over the top of it as the cross country team stumbles long-legged and lean onto the track around the edge of the football field. They’re stretching, bouncing on their feet, all of them full of energy and barely dressed. Like Steve imagines Achilles might have looked, the fastest and best of Greeks, though really, most of them are too white to ever pass for golden Achilles.

His eyes scan over them, landing on Loki--his face and shoulders stained red from a burn, streaky, like the sunscreen melted off and he never slowed down once to reapply it during the long hours over the fields and backroads the team runs. His hair is pulled back in a bun today, a few wisps escaping to curl at his neck, and his eyes are smiling at someone else. He stretches legs that go forever, just folds over and grabs onto one foot, leans into it, then does the other side. He glances up towards the bleachers and Steve feels his heart stutter a bit. He makes himself stare at the words on the page. They’re a blur; he doesn’t even try to read them.

Loki is the one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen, maybe even as beautiful as Peggy. It’s hard to believe he’s Thor’s little brother--he looks nothing like him. 

Steve looks back up after he hears them start to do their reps. It’s safer, this way. After a moment, he finds Loki again and just watches. They’re doing 500 meter sprints today, it looks, and Loki’s face slowly flushes fully, the red eventually crawling down his neck and then to his chest, disappearing under his slip of a jersey and Steve imagines, for a moment, what that looks like, before shifting uncomfortably on the bleachers.

It’s not polite, this, or good--staring at someone, enjoying them like this. But his eyes snap back up when the group rounds the track to the side Steve sits on, as they slow to a short walk before they repeat the whole thing again.

Every time, Steve makes sure he’s staring at his book when they pass the bleachers, and every time he looks up again as soon as they take off--following Loki and his long strides, and how he somehow makes the full sprint look graceful.

Eventually, the cross country team trots out in a pack; Steve doesn’t know where they go next, but he watches them leave anyway. Loki glances back, once, eyes seeming to meet Steve’s, and Steve startles, looking away and ears burning, feeling caught out.

“You see your crush?” Bucky asks, later, as they leave the field.

“I don’t have a crush,” Steve reminds him, firmly, even though it’s a lie. it’s an important one; Steve can’t act on it anyway. It’d be better if he just got over it.

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Did he win?”

“You don’t win sprints, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“But did he?”

Steve sighs and shakes his head. “Sure, Bucky, he ‘won’ at sprints.”

“Great, you should tell him congrats.” Bucky shoves Steve forward, and Steve looks up--and up, because he’s suddenly nose to nose with a collarbone he knows all too well at a distance, and there are green eyes looking down at him. 

“Oh,” Steve says, mouth very, very dry.

“Barnes,” Loki says, curtly, and Bucky tips his head a bit. “And--Steve, wasn’t it?” 

Steve tries not to flush at Loki saying his name. “Yeah.”

“I saw you at practice,” Loki says.

“Uh, right.” Steve tries to think of what to say that isn’t  _your beautiful_. “Congrats on being first.” He wants to kick himself.

Loki just smiles though, with his eyes, lips barely twitching, and Steve figures at least the idiocy might be worth it.

“Not that you can, you know, win sprints. I was telling Bucky that, I mean--but. You looked nice. I mean--”

“Thank you,” Loki says, mercifully stopping Steve from digging a bigger hole. “I take it practice is over? Is Thor finished showering yet?” That at Bucky, and Steve takes a deep breath and avoids burying his face in his hands. 

“Yeah, he should be out in a second.”

“Good.” Loki glances at Steve again; his eyes, Steve now knows, are that fascinating shade of green that is almost blue. “I take it I’ll see you next Tuesday then?” 

“Yes. I’ll just be. Up in the bleachers.” Steve thinks he might be having an asthma attack, but it doesn’t quite  _feel_  like one. 

“Mm. See you then.” Loki nods to them both, and heads off at a quick little trot for the locker rooms and Steve tries not to die, or stare too hard at his back as he goes.


	9. 9 - Judgement - Pregnant Loki and the Cravings

“I’m not judging you,” Steve says, hands up.

“Good,” Loki says. He eats another spoon of tuna mixed with peanut butter and Steve tries very hard not to look at it again. He hadn’t thought Tony was  _serious_.

“It’s just--that’s. Quite a mix, and the others--”

“So you  _are_  judging me,” Loki interrupts, eyes narrowing and spoon poised above the jar. 

“--the  _others_  are just a little upset you mixed it all in the peanut butter jar instead of making a bowl, no one’s judging you for your peanut-tuna.”

“And chocolate.” Loki eyes Steve. “This is your fault,” he adds, as if they didn’t  _both_  choose to become parents, and really, this whole thing has just been one wild ride after another, and very emotional, and Steve reminds himself that honestly peanut-chocolate-tuna-butter isn’t all that bad even as Loki takes another bite and Steve’s stomach does a very unpleasant churn.

“Well, I definitely have some responsibility,” Steve allows. “Which is why I’m not judging you and just saying you should mix it up in a bowl instead. So  _other_  people can also have some peanut butter later.”

Loki does not look convinced. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sure every1 thought i'd go for A N G S T on this one


	10. Little Birds - real life AU, office man loki/artist smol steve

Loki takes his lunch at the park, weather permitting. Always the same–half a sandwich and a coffee, black. It keeps him sharp for the afternoon, whether it is meeting clients or research. After he eats–quick, neatly, no more than twenty precise bites–he takes a brisk walk around the shortest of the parks loops, provided it is not too hot.

Sometimes, there is a young man with an assortment of colorful chalks, fingers stained and eyes squinting at a scene. He moves around, sometimes by the fountain, other times at the covered table, and other times on a blanket in the grass. He has a slight build, blond hair, and skin that looks as easily burnable as Loki’s own.

Today, he is sitting under a tree, and there are a host of pigeons and sparrows cooing in front of him on the ground; he has seeds in hand, sketchbook propped precariously on his knee and a stick of charcoal in hand. He feeds the birds with one hand, eyes darting between the carefully balanced sketchbook and the birds that crowd against him. 

It is… clever, Loki thinks, if disgusting–who knows where these birds have been? He watches for a while, but he does not approach. A glance at his watch, and it is time to go. 

He heads back to his office; on the way, he checks the weather on his phone to see if it will be accomodating for lunch again.


	11. At a snail's pace - university AU

It is quiet today in the studio. The fluorescent lights overhead hum, audible when the air conditioning rattles to a stop, under the sound of pencil and charcoal scratching paper. Loki’s eyes droop, body still and languid against the soft blankets. His foot is beginning to go numb–a mistake in pose, but it is not the first he has ever made, and this one is far more tolerable than the time he left his arm resting above his head.

He will only need to be careful when they take a slight break.

From where he poses, he cannot see the clock; his eyes roam the walls for a few moments before he finally lets his eyes close fully. Time drips by, bit by bit; somewhere, he can hear the clock tick off seconds. He counts them until he loses track, and only focuses on his breathing, on staying still, on not moving.

“Let’s break,” the professor says. 

Loki opens his eyes again and reaches for the robe. The cotton is soft against his skin, and he slips into slippers before shuffling towards the bathroom to splash a bit of water on his face. It won’t do to fall asleep.

When he comes back, he wanders behind the easels–yes, the job pays well, the easiest and rarest of campus jobs, but he’d do it for free if only to see himself like this, as others do. There is… something, in what the art students manage to capture, that he never finds when he looks in the mirror. 

A stillness, or peace, which he’s not sure he’s ever felt.

Rogers’, as ever, is the one that pleases him most. He has not asked to ever see the senior art student outside of the life drawing sessions–for one, he comes off as almost definitely straight, and for two, he seems to be very happily in love with Peggy, and Loki has heard rumours that Steve is considering proposing. It is a… pity, Loki supposes–when he looks at how Steve draws him, Loki almost can imagine a relationship that lasts longer than a month or two, a stability and grace to it that he’s yet to find. 

This picture is no different really–a grace to the shadows that are no doubt exaggerated, as the lights here wash them all out; attention to the lazy droop of his lashes in a smaller sketch in a corner; the delicate turn of his shoulder blade beneath skin; a squaring of Loki’s jaw, a narrowing of hips that is unrealistic but still–

Rogers, seeing Loki as he wishes he could be. 

“Not too cold in here, is it?” Rogers asks. 

Loki looks away from the paper to Rogers and his easy smile, gentle blue eyes. 

“No, not at all.” He gestures to the picture. “I’m surprised you still come to these.”

“All life drawing is good practice,” Rogers says, and Loki lets himself pretend, a moment, that that’s not the only reason Rogers still comes to sessions he does not need to attend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a transgender Loki


	12. He died; I smiled

He was meant to take more joy, when Odin died. 

It was not meant to ache, to leave behind so much unspoken, leave so much he cannot resolve. It was not meant to allow Odin to, once again, find a way to get out of saying anything that he meant.

Loki wishes, more than anything, he could hate him for it. 

He thinks about it from time to time. Are all fathers so incapable? Is it only him? Thor’s mourning certainly seems far more sincere than Loki’s own, but then, he supposes their relationship was always so much less fraught than Loki’s own with the old man.

As if they’ve had time for mourning.

“I heard, from Thor,” Steve, the captain says. “I’m sorry about your father.”

It is a peace offering. Fragile. Loki should take it.

Instead, he laughs; he cannot help how bitter it sounds, though he tries. “Do you know, I smiled when he died?”

He means to make a point; he means to push the captain away. He does not wish to be any of these people’s  _friend_. 

Steve’s face closes off, mouth turning down, but not before Loki catches a flash of pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pre-infinity war release canon compliant


	13. Gutless - Canon Compliant pre-infinity war release

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> implied gore, death and not very not implied blood content warning

“These are–stop laughing, you’re making it–” 

Sound washes over Steve’s words; Loki can’t help a delirious giggle, blinking up at Steve, using his shield to  _shield_  them, isn’t that  _delightful_?

He has, he thinks faintly, lost quite a lot of blood. 

“Stop that,” Steve says, and Loki means to make a whitty comeback, but he has very little air to spare. He licks the water–ah, not water, is it? Iron and tangy,  _blood_ , but all the same, he licks the blood from his lips.

More bubbles up as he breathes. 

 _I’ve survived worse_ , he wants to say, and  _at last_ –this, at least, does not  _hurt_  the way it did Svartleheim, does not hurt the way Thanos would make it, and is it not better to die here, now, before he once again becomes a villain? 

He pats Steve’s hand. He is a very good captain. It is a pity Loki has no air to tell him so.


	14. Raw Wood - vague canon thing

The setting sun reflects bright and blinding off the water, a red-white glow. Loki frowns, lowers his camera to look at the sunset proper again, and wonders why mortal technology is still so far behind. But Steve wishes a photo, so he raises it again, adjusting settings bit by bit until it looks almost–but not quite–like the real thing, and even manages it before the most spectacular portion of the sunset finishes. 

He turns his attention to the beach, looking from figure to figure, and ah–there he is. Quite a ways down the beach now, crouched, examining a piece of drift wood in the dying light.

It’s a strange hobby, this–take pieces of beached and useless wood and turning them into work Loki might generously call art if only because Steve’s hands are the ones that shape them. Loki would not have guessed this as a hobby, but then, he supposes, it should have–Steve seems to have an affection for things worn away by time and elements and finding something of value in them.

Loki takes his time approaching–there are other people at the beach, and he has no desire to be noticed, right now. He sees Steve pick the wood up, sees him run his hands over the shape. This one is twisted, but already Steve must be seeing whatever is trapped within the broken wood.

Steve notices him, sooner than Loki ever expects. He stands, smiling at Loki.

“Did you find something then?”

“I did,” Steve agrees. “Did you figure out the camera?”

“As if it were difficult.” Loki snorts.

“Well, last time,” Steve starts, and Loki raises an eyebrow.

Steve, wisely, does not continue with  _last time_ , but he is still, frustratingly, smiling.

“How about we get some crab?” Steve says instead. 

“I hate crab.” 

“Then oysters.”

Oysters, Loki supposes, are acceptable.


	15. Telephone - spy au????? it's too fluff for a Serious Take

“That can’t be right,” Steve says, frowning at Bucky.

Bucky shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I heard.”

“From who?”

“Well, Sam told me.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t–well. You two–”

“He’s been warming up to me. Anyway, that’s what he said, and it’s about your boyfriend, so I doubt he’d lie to me just to mess with me when it affects other people.”

“Fair,” Steve says. “But–well–”

“Well?” Bucky asks.

“Loki’s  _allergic_  to crab,” Steve says. “Why would he want to eat it?”

Bucky just shrugs, again.

“You’re no help.” 

“Well, tell him to get a phone.”

“He can’t have a phone in the field.”

“Oh right.” Bucky grins. “So what are you going to do?”

“Well.” Steve sighs. “I’m not making crab, that’s for sure.”


	16. Insight - john wick/assassins au

“Target acquired.” Loki shifts the rifle ever so minutely as the wind shifts, tracking his target. He starts to move his finger to the trigger--

“Cancel that,” Stark says in his ear. “Something feels off.” 

Loki pauses, not quite resting his finger back along the top of the trigger guard. “So we cancel a half billion dollar job because of your ‘feelings’?” 

“No, I just-- There’s movement at the south entrance.”

“No one should be there,” Loki says, pulling back from the rifle, resting his index finger along the top of the trigger guard again. He can’t see the south entrance from here. “Dog? Stark I had the shot, if you called it off because of an  _animal_ \--”

“Like you didn’t ditch because of a  _crab_ ,” Stark says. “Two people, headed for your building. Evac, now.”

Loki scowls across the way at the target, but shakes his head firmly and begins to break down his equipment. Stark is, unfortunately,  _right_ \--no one should have come through the  _locked_  south entrance; it’s too risky. 

“Which side of the building are they on?” Loki asks as he slips out the door, equipment stashed to pick up later--carrying it now in his suit and tie at this event would only make him stand out, and guns are easily replaced. 

“South side. Heading inside.” Stark pauses, and Loki starts down the stairs, pulling out his glock to double check it’s loaded and ready to go in case these individuals are something to worry about. “Shit, I think that’s Rogers.”

“Oh  _goody_ ,” Loki says, and the smile on his face might be almost genuine. “Just what we need.” He tucks the gun back away; he, unlike Rogers, has an invitation for the event--there’s no probable cause Rogers will have to search him. 

"They’re in,” Stark says. “You could always make out with him if they find you.”

“Not my type,” Loki says, and ignores Stark’s  _mhmm_  that is anything but polite. 

Loki pauses in the stairwell at the first floor; he eases the door just barely open, listening for movement, eyes scanning for any out of place shadows. Nothing--but still, he wants another long moment. 

Clear.

Loki takes long strides towards the exit--but not hurried. There is, after all, a bathroom on this floor, and the north entrance of the building faces the plaza--and was not locked like the way that Rogers came in with his loyal dog of a partner Barnes. 

Barnes, though, is the one he watches for.

He has very nearly made it, exit open, when he notices something out of the corner of his eye. He stands in the doorway, backlit, an easy target but--well, if it were only Barnes, Loki is sure that he would have been tackled. But Rogers, ah, Rogers--he certainly is quite one with the law. Loki grins at the telltale glint of blond hair, a tuft sticking out from a ballcap, mostly hidden in shadow, and slides his eyes across the room until there--Barnes. A neat little pincer move. 

“A pity you weren’t a touch slower this time,” Loki says, unable to resist a good goad. “You might have caught something interesting.” 

Neither of them move; they aren’t meant to be here, but they will adjust things quite a bit. 

“Worse showboat than me,” Stark comments in Loki’s ear. Loki gives a quick bow to the two before heading out to the plaza, quickly losing himself in the crowd. 

“I suppose we’ll have to go with the personalized gift after all,” Loki says, idly, and grabs a glass of wine.

“Or we could call it all off.”

“Who are we again?” Loki asks.

“Right,” Stark says, and Loki can hear his smile. “Let’s give your future husband a show then, hmm?”

“Not my type,” Loki repeats, but his grin is wide and sharp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inSIGHT get it lmao
> 
> This is an assassins au loosely inspired by John wick universe because i love John wick. Def an enemies to lover for this one, though you need to fill in the rest yourself now


	17. Vampire - set after "Changes"

“Can you believe that some people think that Keanu Reeves is a vampire?” 

Steve looks over from the movie, frowning a bit when he sees Loki browsing his phone instead of paying attention; he shoves it down. Things are different now–movie etiquette, for sure, and Loki did say he’d already seen this one before. 

“Who is that?”

“The  _Matrix_  guy.” Loki shows him a photo that Steve vaguely places as that movie they watched last week. 

“Why?”

“Well, there’s some portraits that resemble him. He gives off an  _old_  vibe. He appears mysteriously and does random deeds.” Loki ticks each point off on his fingers. 

“That sounds more like a fairy to me,” Steve says, a bit tentatively. Maybe what people know about fairies has changed, too.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Loki says, giving Steve one of his rare small, but triumphant, smiles. It makes his eyes crinkle, dulls the knife edge of his jawline. Soft, no, but less cut marble and more lifelike. 

“Doesn’t he go out in the sun too?” Steve asks. He doesn’t really know a lot about vampires.

“He does,” Loki says, leaning into Steve’s side more firmly and looking at his phone again. “But that could just be age.”

“What?” 

“Old vampires can go into the sun.”

“News to me,” Steve murmurs, but Loki’s mind is clearly already elsewhere as he flicks through his Twitter feed. Steve just gets comfortable again, one arm around Loki’s shoulders, and relaxes into the moment.


	18. Nailed It - modern life au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this one has a soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZOHopZC6BE)

Loki slips in the back of the venue late; the lights dim but for the stage, the crowd hushed. The show is nearly over, Loki knows, but that’s not the point.

He’s here now, for however little time that is.

Up on stage, is Steve, sitting, half curled around his acoustic. Sweat sheens on his forehead, his blond hair sticking out at odd angles where he no doubt ran his hand through it earlier. His fingers tune the guitar, and he’s talking, familiar patter that Loki’s heard a thousand times before. 

Loki edges towards the back of the crowd, removing his blazer as he goes, loosening his tie. Steve strums the guitar; Loki breathes deep, lets out a long rush of air, and allows himself, for a moment, to smile. 

Steve glances up; he doesn’t see Loki, can’t with the stage lights in his eyes, but Loki pretends a moment that he can, and that their eyes meet. 

“This one is for someone a little too busy to always make it,” Steve says; Loki’s smile grows, just a little, and Steve starts to play.


	19. Whiskey - Avengers living together au

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a whiskey person.” 

Loki turns his head just enough to watch as Rogers sits down at the bar with him. He orders a beer--bottled, American, the weakest of Midgard’s offerings. Loki considers whether it’s worth leaving now--is the building surrounded? how many of the intrepid Avengers are here? is this a threat?--before deciding he will, at the least, finish his drink.

Rogers is more tolerable in his current mood than one of the others. 

Loki should not speak to Rogers--he came here to be alone--but it is better than being moralized at, if that is what Rogers was sent for today.

“And what would you take me for?”

“I don’t know. Not whiskey.” Rogers receives his beer, takes a sip. “Maybe a cocktail? You have a sweet tooth.”

“Do I.”

“Well, that’s what Thor says. Or maybe mead, that’s pretty Nordic, isn’t it?”

“Mead tastes awful.”

“Well, I tried.” 

Loki finishes his drink in a few gulps and stands. It burns on the way down, leaves his throat with a hint of rawness. It is not as good as dwarven whiskey, but it is not terrible. 

(It does not dull his senses; that is for the best, he knows, and still and yet--)

“Already leaving?” Rogers asks mildly. He has not moved to follow Loki. 

“Always.”

Rogers considers him; Loki stares back evenly, not blinking. 

“Let me buy you a drink,” Rogers suggests.

Loki considers. There is no one else here, so far as he can sense. Perhaps they sent only Rogers, alone. 

“Perhaps one,” Loki says, and sits down again.


	20. Petal - Used Bookshop/Flowershop AU, pure fluff

"What do you think they’re putting in there?” Steve asks when Sam gets back from lunch. 

Sam glances across the narrow street, where tarp is being hung up around what used to be a jewelry store. 

“Who knows,” Sam says, because there’s no signage on the tarp. “Maybe we’ll get another cookie shop.”

“That wouldn’t be bad,” Steve says.

“Did you finish making all those mystery boxes already?” Sam asks.

“Oh. Not yet, I wasn’t sure what books to put in ‘questionable romance.’“

***

Two weeks later--a pretty quick turn around really, Steve’s a bit surprised--a little flower shop is unveiled. It’s cute, what they did with the space, and the flowers and plants seem like they might burst out of the store and take over the whole street if someone let them. 

Steve’s allergies aren’t so much a fan, but he likes seeing the burst of green amidst the concrete, the warm yellow glow of the lamps that simulate the sun. 

There’s only one worker that Steve’s seen, and those hours must be awful, 11am to 10pm every day, but other than Sundays, the guy is always there. He’s tall, carries himself with an easy grace. It’s brave, wearing slacks and a nice shirt when surrounded by so much green and pollen and dirt. There’s a tattoo sleeve on one arm; Steve saw it one day when the man watered a little bonsai in the window; it’s a delicate watercolor tattoo of petals, a tree branch disappearing under his sleeve.

“Just go talk to him,” Sam says, amused, as Steve stares across the way. Today, the flower man is setting up a little display by the front door--cacti and succulents, some alone, some together in larger bowls. His black hair reminds Steve of a magpie--streaked with a little white, but otherwise a deep black.

“What, no.”

“Well, then I will.”

“What! No!” Steve says, but Sam has already hopped the counter, which isn’t fair  _or_  allowed by store rules, and is strolling across the street. 

Steve sinks down a bit behind the counter as Sam waves hello. He’s carrying a  _book_ , he was prepared for this, and Steve is definitely going to punch him in the arm when he gets back. He sees the flower shop owner glance over towards the bookshop and sinks down a bit further, so he almost can’t see and is definitely hidden behind one of the stacks of books they’re sorting this afternoon.

It’s not long before Sam comes strolling back. He hops the counter  _again_ , and Steve punches in the arm as soon as he lands.

“Hey, what was that for?”

“You just gave him a book for free!”

“Like that’s what you’re mad about. Besides, we have a million other books.” Sam grins at him, elbows him a bit. “His name is Loki, by the way. You’re welcome.”

“That’s not the point,” Steve says.

“Like you don’t give every new shop a book.”

“That’s also not the point--”

“Am I interrupting?” a very low, very amused voice asks; Steve and Sam both turn at the same time. It’s the flower man-- _Loki_ \--and he has a small potted plant in hand, leaves waxy and fat, flowers a brilliant opera pink and in full bloom.

“No,” Steve and Sam say together.

“For the book,” Loki says. He’s smiling; it makes crows feet appear at the corners of his eyes. He sets the flower down on the desk in front of Steve--because Steve is  _closer_ \--and this close Steve can see a very old scar that splits his bottom lip.

“Thanks,” Sam says. 

“Yeah, thank you, we’ll make sure not to kill it,” Steve adds belatedly.

“He’ll make sure not to kill it, I’m terrible at plants,” Sam says.

Loki grins a little wider. It makes interesting things happen with the scar. Steve tries not to stare. 

“It is nice to officially meet you,” Loki says. “I’ll be going then.”

“Enjoy the book!” Sam calls after him as he leaves. As soon as the door closes behind him, Sam adds, “He’s a little older, but you could make it work.” He rubs his chin.

“What--absolutely not,” Steve says. “I don’t even know him.”

“He brought you  _flowers.”_

“He brought  _us_  flowers,” Steve corrects, a bit more vehemently than he intends. It just makes Sam grin wider.

“Sure thing.” 

“I’m going to get the ladder and get the door bells back up,” Steve says, because really, they should have done it ages ago and it’d be  _nice_  to have a little more  _warning_  next time someone comes in.

Especially if that someone is Loki.

“Okay,” Sam says, laughing. “Whatever you want.”


	21. Language - jotun!loki/human!steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i guess this one is more body language but it's got a good learning to language at each other fic in there
> 
> very inspired by shape of the water which was.... okay, but not great, and full of ideas I wanna explore

The alien doesn’t speak any Earth language. People smarter than Steve have been dissecting what the alien  _does_  speak, throwing around words that Steve doesn’t know. Steve keeps his head down, and mops the floors, and sometimes he’s mopping floors in the lab where they have the alien quarantined and sometimes he’s mopping floors in the office where people who make much more than him debate what to do with the blue being they found.

The main difference is when he’s mopping floors in the lab, it’s a heck of a lot colder than it is in the rest of the building. He starts taking a jacket and a thermos of hot tea, though he’s not supposed to. He’s not…  _lingering_ , but he still hasn’t caught sight of the alien except when they brought them in.

And then one morning he comes in a bit sooner than he usually cleans the lab floors, and–

Their skin is blue–that’s the first thing that Steve really registers, just this expanse of bare blue back, a jewel tone, almost ultramarine, and then he registers the details–the sweeping lines that run across the skin, deep, almost like… scars? And a sweep of long black hair that sheens in the stark light of the lab. Third, the… hummaing, low and whale-like in melody. 

The alien turns, hearing the door shut automatically behind Steve, and shockingly red eyes meet Steve’s before narrowing with a hiss and baring of very sharp teeth. 

“Woah,” Steve says, and puts his hands up. “I’m just here to clean.” He points at his mop and bucket. 

The alien watches him, eyes still narrowed, teeth still bared. Steve glances down, trying to make himself not look threatening. They’re… not wearing much, and Steve makes his eyes shift back up. Isn’t meeting gazes a threat display, or is that just Earth animals? Steve doesn’t know, so instead he focuses on the lines that sweep down on their forehead, almost like a crown.

The alien says something, then turns away. Steve waits a few moments, but they’ve gone back to what they were doing before Steve came in–combing through thick hair with their fingers. Steve starts to mop, trying to act like everything is normal, this definitely isn’t the weirdest thing he’s seen at this job but…

“Excuse me,” he says, grabbing his comb from his back pocket. “Here.” He holds it out. The alien looks at him again; their eyes really are a striking shade of red, pupils cat-like. Their gaze moves from Steve’s face to the held-out comb a few times, before, quick as lightning, they’ve snatched the comb from Steve and edged a bit further away. They examine it curiously before breaking a few of the teeth.

“Hey–” Steve starts to protest, then realizes that there’s a pattern to it. This close, he can see the texture of their hair better, too, and the strands are… weird, in-human, and far too thick for the pocket comb that Steve keeps for his own fine blond hair. Steve’s not even sure it’s hair like anything he knows, or even fur, and he has to keep his hands still and stop from edging closer to feel. 

He has a feeling that wouldn’t end too well for him. 


	22. I messed up - college au

“Open the door!”

“No.”

“ _Loki.”_

Steve rounds the corner at last to find the source of the shouting–Thor, on the hallway side of the door, which is probably locked.

“No!” Loki shouts through the door. 

Steve studies his frat brother for a second, then the door. 

“Thor, why don’t you just–”

“Steve!” both brothers say, unintentionally in unison from how Thor glances back at the door again; the relief, though, is a mirror image. They seem to realize it, both going silent, then Thor points at the door angrily.

“Steve, he  _kicked_  my  _goat_ ,” Thor says.

“Well–”

“It  _bit_   _me!”_  Loki shouts through the door, clearly just as angry as Thor, but also–not unreasonably–afraid of his brother’s retaliation for kicking one of his frankly ornery goats.

“That’s–”

“It was chewing on my  _new sweater_ , Thor, and  _wouldn’t let go_  and then it’s  _smelly ugly brother came over and headbutted me_ –”

“I told you not to go near them!” Thor shouts back, and now they’re shouting at each other through the door that Steve knows really, really isn’t strong enough to handle either of them if they start throwing bunches.

“Guys, guys, fellas, calm down. Thor, why don’t you just apologize for your goats, and Loki, you just apologize for kicking the goats, and then we can all go out for some pizza and it’ll be  _fine_.”

“I’m not apologizing for  _self defense_ ,” Loki snarls through the door, slamming his fist against the door. 

Steve takes a deep breath. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved, but the brothers have already destroyed two chairs and the dartboard already, and it’s got to end sometime. And no one  _else_  is good enough friends with Thor–or dating Loki–or crazy enough to get between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not all ideas gotta be good


	23. 23 - Earpiece - avengers work together au

Loki takes a hit, flying overhead, and Steve has a moment to see him, before his attention is forced back to the battle at hand. His worry is compartmentalized--he can’t spare more, not with them overwhelmed, overrun--and it disapates soon enough when he catches that familiar flash of green. 

Thor’s already at Loki’s side when the battle ends and they finally start to regroup. Thor looks... concerned, which concerns Steve in turn, but he’s quick to hide that as he gets closer and scuffs some rubble, knowing that Loki will take offense to the blatant display.

Except--Loki doesn’t turn to look at him? Not even a glance?

Thor does, though, quick enough to see Steve’s frown.

“Captain!” Thor says with a tight smile, voice louder than it needs to be, but  _now_  Loki turns, eyes and lips both going tight at the corners, face hardening a way it hasn’t since they first met years ago.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks.

“It is fine,” Loki snaps too loudly, at the same time Thor says, “We will need to visit Asgard, but yes, things will be well.”

Steve nods, and doesn’t comment on how Loki doesn’t seem to have noticed Thor contradicted him. 

“I’m going to go check on the others,” Steve says, careful to speak clearly. Both brothers nod, and he turns. 

He finds the tiny piece of Asgardian tech by stepping on it later, when he’s helping clean up the mess. It doesn’t break, which is most of why he notices, and he examines it. It must have gotten knocked out when Loki took that hit, and it would... explain. Some things.

But Steve isn’t sure he should even bring it up, considering Loki’s reaction earlier. Or, for that matter, the fact Loki’s  _never_  brought up being hard of hearing at all, the entire time they’ve known each other, even after they’ve started dating.

For now, he just pockets the earpiece. He’ll bring it up later, after Loki comes back from Asgard.


	24. Bunny - Loki learns english

“What,” Loki asks, “is a bunny?”

“It’s a rabbit,” Steve says. “But like, a really cute one.”

Loki frowns at him. 

“Then why not simply call it a cute rabbit?” he asks with no small amount of delicacy. Ever since he’s started learning this infernal language, he has uncovered a landmind of awful.

(He does not allow the thought that Aesir, without All Speak, is no less baffling in its traditions. Aesir is not  _mortal_ , therefore it is  _better_.)

“Well, it’s just a thing we do. Like ‘kitty’ or ‘puppy.’“

“Which are–”

“Cats or kittens and baby dogs. Or old dogs.” Steve grins at him, charmingly sincere, unaware of the deep anger in Loki’s breast at this awful language. “Personally, I think all dogs are still really puppies.”

“I see,” Loki says, and stops himself from saying anything else. This is not  _Steve’s_  fault, and while it not being someone’s fault has not stopped him from lashing out in the past, Steve is  _different_ , much like all these awful word variants. 

(But not quite; Loki, perhaps, likes Steve, while he has nothing but disdain for these diminutive forms.)


	25. No charge - coffee shop college au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgot to post day 24 on here, so double feature

“He’s bad news, Steve,” Bucky says disapprovingly.

“You say that about every new barista,” Steve says without looking up from his textbook. He squints at the passage he just read, and skips back to the top--this philosophy course has been kicking his tail, but he’s bound and determined to power through it. When it clicks, it  _clicks._

Bucky has... not been doing so well in the course. Bucky doesn’t seem nearly as interested in the subject, and Steve still isn’t sure why he signed up to take it with Steve. Steve can’t carry him through the exams or papers, that’s for sure, but Bucky doesn’t seem all that bothered by his poor grades in the class either.

Then again, Bucky’s not the one on an academic scholarship.

“This one really is,” Bucky insists. “He’s two seconds away from stabbing a customer with a stir stick.”

Steve sighs, looking up from the passage he’s not going to be able to read while Bucky’s hyper fixated on the new barista. The new barista, sides of his head shaved, long hair tied up in a bun to show off the cut, currently wiping down mugs and stacking them next to the register. The new barista with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing artist line wrists and the slightly paler skin that doesn’t see the sun as often as his face. The new barista with vibrantly green eyes, and Steve’s still not sure if they’re natural or contacts, not that it matters; he just knows they contrast sharply with sepia skin, and there’s a reason he just looks firmly at the counter when he orders his drinks these days.

“See?” Bucky says, eyes now on Steve, and Steve flushes, kicking Bucky under the table. 

“Shut up,” Steve says. “We need to do this reading.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Bucky drawls, but he’s grinning and Steve knows  _exactly_  why.

***

Steve has a part time job in the math lab helping with tutoring. He works Monday, Wednesdays, and Fridays, sometimes picks up a Saturday shift, and for the most part it’s easy work. He likes it, and the people who show up tend to be the ones who both need the help and have the most drive to grok the material, so it’s satisfying, too. Sometimes it’s awfully frustrating, there’s always one or two near the beginning of a term who think he’ll just do their work for them, but overall he can’t complain. It’s an easy job and easy money. 

There was a pretty big test last week in the algebra classes, so today it’s pretty quiet as people nurse their test scores and take a breather. Steve’s reading this week’s philosophy assignment, squinting a bit, chewing his pen even though he knows that’s a bad habit, when he hears someone comes in and looks up and--

oh.

New-barista apparently does not always walk around in his button up and khakis required by work. His tee is a graphic design  _mess_ , the font for the band name impossible to read so undoubtedly some obscure death metal or punk band, and he looks like he was probably poured into his jeans. His boots are old, beaten up Docs; Steve has a feeling Bucky would warm up pretty quickly to new-barista if he saw him now. 

He also has some pretty thick nerd frames on; blue-green eyes narrow as they focus on Steve. Steve hopes that he’s forgettably white and blond boy enough that new-barista doesn’t recognize him. 

“Is this the math lab?” new-barista asks, more of a demand really, and his voice is very low and clipped with just a hint of a British accent, like he moved here ages ago but still hasn’t lost that bit of home. 

“Yeah, yes, hi,” Steve shoves a bookmark in his book and sets it aside, maybe a little too quickly. “I’m Steve.”

“Loki,” new-barista-Loki says. He holds out a paper for Steve. “I’m here for math tutoring, apparently.”

That is a pretty impressive failing mark for an algebra exam, if Steve says so, which he doesn’t, because that’s counterproductive to getting people to be willing to learn more. 

“Alright.” Steve takes a second to flip through, noting what was marked wrong, and it slips out, before he can help himself, “Did you... just not go to any of the classes?” He wants to slap himself upside the head, glances up at Loki quickly; his nose is wrinkled, and an orange flush darkening his skin in what is probably frustration. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that--”

“It’s not incorrect,” Loki snaps, and pulls out a chair to sit at the desk, tossing his messenger bag covered in enamel pins on another chair. Some of them are even things Steve recognizes, but he sets the exam on the table and grabs some sheets of scratch paper. He’s gotta make up being an ass to Loki, and he can’t think of much better ways than doing his job, which happens to be why Loki came today. 

Besides, it helps keep him from getting flustered and blurting out anything else idiotic and demeaning.

***

 “Thanks,” Loki says when he leaves, and it’s a little less brusque than when he first came in. 

“Yeah, of course. Anytime,” Steve says.

***

Steve debates telling Bucky they have to find a new coffee shop, but the problem with  _that_  is that then he’d have to explain  _why_. So Steve just sucks it up and goes along with him. He just wears a ball cap today; the sun is bright and his white skin sunburns easily.

Right.

Loki’s there, of course, because this is one of the days he works, and Steve mutters his order at the countertop like usual and Loki doesn’t seem to recognize him, at least, Steve thinks it’ll be fine right up until he goes to pay, then--

“This one’s on me,” Loki says, bright and cheerful, and  _that_  gets Steve to look up. Loki grins at him, showing just a bit of teeth. It--looks really good on him. 

The only people with that many enamel pins on their bags are probably at  _least_  bi, Steve’s mind helpfully suggests, which Steve smothers down.

“Uh, no it’s--”

“For the math help,” Loki insists, and then waves Steve away with a frankly  _lascivious_  wink and Steve, flustered and no doubt beet red, turns to go wait with Bucky, bracing himself for the inquisition he’s about to undergo.


	26. Mixed Messages - high school au

“He’s probably straight,” Amora says, popping her bubble gum with a wet squelch. “Overnight transformation into a hunk, football team, blond–”

“Not all blonds are straight,” Loki says.

“–super polite but like American pie polite, not gay polite, gave Carter those flowers for her birthday,” Amora continues. She pops her bubble gum again.

“But I’ve caught him staring in art class.” 

“Mhm, yeah, well, you’ve got an ass like a girl.”

Loki gives Amora a cool look, but Amora just grins at him and keeps going. 

“Zero enamel pins.”

“He asked me for help with English and we spent the whole time watching a movie.”

“Dresses in the same unfashionable clothes.”

“Always says how much he likes spending time with me.”

Amora frowns at that one, considering. “That’s pretty gay,” she concedes at last.

“That’s what I thought,” Loki says. He looks back at where Steve is sitting next to school bi icon Bucky Barnes. Steve is laughing; it makes his white skin flush rosy, and shakes very, very broad shoulders. Loki wouldn’t say Steve is his  _type_ , per say, because he doesn’t particularly have one, but Steve is… nice. Especially since his growth spurt last summer.

“So next time you two ‘study’, make out with him,” Amora suggests.

“That’s an awful idea.”

She shrugs, and Loki wonders why he’s even talking to her about this.


	27. Delicious - avengers tower au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i'm late bye

Steve suspects that, if his metabolism weren’t enhanced by the super serum, he would probably have gained at least a  _little_  weight. And if he wasn’t constantly training. And the attacks. And the missions. 

That said, he’s still pretty sure he’s put on some weight, and he honestly doesn’t mind at all. 

The entire floor the kitchen is on smells heavenly--a mix of spices that to Steve still smell foreign, but he’s starting to learn the names. Today is the distinct smell of cumin and cloves--it makes his nose tingle, just a bit, and he sticks his head in the kitchen only to duck out immediately, a towel whizzing past. 

“It’s not  _ready_ ,” Loki says.

“I know--”

“So  _go.”_

“I’m going,” Steve says, and does, but not before peeking in the kitchen again and taking in the view. Bowls neatly lined up, the sizzle of garlic and onion, Loki in slacks, a dress shirt, and a black apron. Loki frowns at Steve, shaking the spoon a bit threateningly; Steve winks at him, and then ducks back around the wall at Loki’s indignant snort and slight flush.


	28. Blue - kids au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this is the candy involved btw](http://yattatachi.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/dagashi-29-300x200.jpg)
> 
> idk if it's popular outside korea/japan, but i like it

“Look,” Steve says, and sticks out his tongue as far as he can. “My tongue’s blue”–though it comes out a bit weird, trying not to close his mouth.

Loki’s face scrunches up.

“That’s gross,” he says, and scoots a bit away from Steve. 

“Nu-uh, it’s just candy.” Steve pulls out the bag of monster stamps. “See?”

Loki inspects the bag of candy stamps.

“This one’s green,” Loki says.

“You can have it,” Steve says. Loki’s only been at the kindergarten for a week, and already Steve likes him. Maybe even like likes him, but he doesn’t know Loki, and this is the first time Loki’s really talked to him; he really wants Loki to like him, too.

Loki thinks a minute, then holds out his hand instead of just grabbing it out of the bag. Steve picks out the green stamp and puts it in Loki’s hand. 

“Thanks,” Loki says and licks the stamp.


	29. Touch - domestic? au, blind!Loki

He can hear Steve; quiet breathing, the soft brush of flannel pajama pants, the shuffle of socks on carpet. The brush of sock on carpet changes as it moves further away, a slide with less friction–the kitchen, then.

Loki turns his attention away as a cabinet is opened, followed by the familiar shuffle of paper and coffee grounds; he stretches languid across warm sheets, rolls into Steve’s residual heat on the bed, and lets himself relax again.

“Hey, that’s my side,” Steve says. His voice is warm and low and fond, and Loki allows himself a smile into Steve’s pillow with another languid stretch; his smile grows wider at the hitch in Steve’s breathing–barely noticeable, Steve likely didn’t, but Loki has. 

The bed dips as Steve sits at the edge, and Loki curves his body around where Steve sits, one foot dangling off the bed. 

“Where’s my coffee?” Loki asks.

“In your mug,” Steve says. He leans down, the bed dipping and Loki with it, then the slightest press of dry lips to Loki’s temple, sending a frisson down Loki’s spine. He reaches out a hand and cups the back of Steve’s head, rubbing his thumb against the grain and relishing the softness of Steve’s hair.

“Where is that?” 

“On the counter.”

Loki snorts, and leans up just a little to kiss Steve in return, landing on the corner of his mouth. A pity, but there’s time later in the day to get it right–besides, there is the feel of Steve’s smile there that allows Loki to map out more of Steve’s joy. 

“Then I suppose I best go get it,” Loki says, and finally sits up.


	30. Crossroads - post winter soldier canon divergence, fallen!Loki

The moon disappears behind the clouds, and for a moment the valley is swallowed in darkness.

“This is a bad idea,” Sam mutters behind Steve.

The clouds break again, and the moonlight casts everything in shades of gray. Ahead of them, the crossroads with a single old and hardly readable wooden sign decaying where the roads meet.

“I’m all ears for a better one,” Steve says. Sam’s silence only reminds them both that they’ve exhausted the rest, all the leads run dry.

Steve can’t lose Bucky, not again, not when he’s so close.

“Well, I’m waiting here under this not at all ominous tree,” Sam says

“That’s fine. You don’t have to come.” Steve glances back at Sam, and catches the look of annoyance on his face. He grins at Sam, and Sam makes a shooing motion.

“Get on with it, you crazy white boy,” Sam says. “I don’t know why I’m still helping. You should have brought Natasha,  _she’d_  be down for this.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, and keeps going, leaving Sam at the tree.

There’s no wind at the crossroads, though overhead the clouds race across the sky; Steve shivers, feeling a trace of ice at his neck. He digs in his bag, pulling out the box. It’s still warm to the touch, unnaturally so, and Steve almost imagines he feels the beat of a heart against his fingers… but it is likely only his racing pulse. Steve sets it down at the base of the worn sign, and catches sight, just barely, of scratches in the base–he is not the first to have come here, driven by desperation.

He hopes that he does not regret this.

(He can’t–

He won’t.)

Before he can rethink this, he pulls out his pocket knife and slices his thumb. The blade gleams black and wet as the moon is swallowed by clouds again; Steve digs the knife deep in the wood while it’s still wet, adding another scratch to the post, and his voice is fainter than he’d like as he whispers the fallen’s name.

“Loki.”

For a moment, the air seems to hang, and the clouds stop moving overhead, time stretching–like when Bucky fell, painfully drawn out, but the grief isn’t there, and after a moment the feeling passes. Steve stands, pressing the cut on the pad of his thumb against his pants to stem the bleeding. He glances back–he can just barely make out Sam under the tree, a shadow more than anything.

Sam was right–this was stupid. Steve starts to head back towards Sam.

“And where are you going?” a low voice says, amused.

Steve stops. 

“You go through all that fuss–a goat heart, really, who was your source for that? no one’s done a goat heart in centuries now, but I like it, very nice craftsmanship on this box–and then leave? Perhaps the easiest soul I’ve ever earned.” 

“We haven’t made a deal yet,” Steve says as he turns.

“Be not afraid,” the fallen– _Loki_ –says, hands out palm up in front of him, grin wide and teeth sharp. The teeth aren’t the only thing  _off_ –his eyes gleam bright and fiery, his limbs just a touch too long, tips of his hair a bit sharper than should be possible, skin unnaturally bone white and smooth–but he doesn’t look at all like Steve expected. The fallen laughs, as if he’s made a great joke.

It’s…  _beautiful_ , horribly so, and Steve has to swallow before he can speak.

“And did your informant and box crafter not tell you how this works? You sealed your deal as soon as you struck blood to my crossroads.”

“What’s the time limit?” Steve asks, though he knows.

“The end of the next full moon,” Loki says obligingly.

“I need you to find Bucky,” Steve says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's over thanks for responses and i'm always up for more
> 
> hmu with prompts and chatter at [my tumblr](http://fel-as-in-tumbld.tumblr.com)
> 
> l8r g8rs


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